


Saying No, Screaming Yes

by Wolfscub



Category: Loki Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Job, Choking, D/s, Dominant Loki, Erotica, F/M, Hair Pulling, NSFW, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Spanking, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4526955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfscub/pseuds/Wolfscub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's beloved supposedly submissive wife is in a contrary mood and decides to be . . . uncooperative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saying No, Screaming Yes

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW.
> 
> Mature Audiences only!
> 
> Despite the title, and although she tries to fight him, this is definitely consensual. 
> 
> As always, please excuse the shitty editing.
> 
> Dominant Loki, spanking, oral sex, erotica, smutty smut smut, Orgasm denial, hair pulling, choking, blow job, D/s

"Come here, my beautiful wife, and suck my cock."

I had just entered our bedroom to find him standing there as if he'd been waiting just for me - cock in hand - the entire time I was gone.

He was, of course, gloriously and unselfconsciously naked, but, damn him, he was glorious when he was fully clothed, too - especially in his armor - or a hand tailored three piece suit. It really didn't matter what he wore or didn't wear - and Loki knew that. He knew that he had my heart - and my ladybits - all nicely sewn up in those eyes of his, in his expressions - especially the evil ones - and his voice - they were all equally as potent to me as any porn pose he could strike, frankly.

And he never hesitated to use any of them on me any time I was within a five mile radius. He was absolutely insatiable, and I usually loved every minute of it.

But I was in a cantankerous mood, so I said the first thing that popped into my head. "No."

The look on his face was priceless - more than worth any way he decided to punish me for denying him. Even if I hadn't been submissive to him, though, I wasn't one for saying "no" to sex, as long as I wasn't sick or hurt. Aside from those reasons, I don't think I'd ever told him "no" in all of the time we'd been together.

And he obviously wasn't a fan of the idea.

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline and his mouth was slightly open - the equivalent in anyone else of their jaw hanging limp in surprise. But that expression was wiped away so quickly I had to wonder if it had ever really been there, and in its place settled a closed mouthed, tight lipped, heavy lidded look that sent a shiver down my spine, making my nipples rise and be clearly delineated beneath the clingy material of my shirt.

His heated gaze settled on me like a particularly possessive caress and I knew he'd seen how my own body betrayed my desire for him even before we'd begun this particular dance.

Watching me intently, he took a step towards me and I had to suppress the urge to take a step back in response. He cocked his head to one side quizzically, although his face was much too dark to really pull it off - and he knew it. "I _am_ sorry," he apologized in a patently false tone. "I thought I heard you say 'no' to me."

"I could make some cutting remark on old age and hearing loss -" I thought I might have gone to far with that one - he tended to be a little sensitive about his age around me for some strange reason - but the only movement I could discern was the ticcing of his jaw muscle. That alone should have alerted me to stop right then and there, but I kinda wanted to see how this played out - and whether or not I lived through it. "But it's probably because I _did_ say no."

I decided to ignore his posturing and headed for the bathroom, unbuttoning my shirt as I walked. By the time I got to the door, I was naked, and frankly wondering if he was actually going to let me get away with my little act.

The man moved as quietly as a big cat when he hunted, soundlessly and somehow elegantly insinuating himself between me and the door, barring my way, his hand on the doorknob. I was horrified to realize that I couldn't stop my forward momentum in time and found myself flush against him, all of my soft, female parts immediately surrendering themselves to his hard, male ones.

I whimpered when I looked up and saw the triumph in his eyes as he shoved his hand rudely between my legs, jamming three fingers up inside me while the other hand grabbed the back of my neck and, suddenly, my feet no longer touched the ground as he lifted and carried me that way back to our bed, dropping me from a not inconsiderable height onto it on my back, then following me down.

Loki could have done any of this with magic and barely have had to move a finger. But I had long since gone all Darren Stevens - from _Bewitched_ \- on him and had prohibited him from using his magic on me at all, and most especially during sex. He had balked, but I had stood my ground, explaining that I wanted _him_ \- not tricks, not illusions, but _him_ \- his own strength and power and skills and drive - or nothing.

He had remained unconvinced until I suggested naively that perhaps he was afraid to abandon his powers in our bedroom because he relied too much on magic, and that, without it, his prowess would be in question.

I had definitely tugged that lithe panther's tail and had no idea what it was that I was unleashing on my poor defenseless body, but I was given cause to retract - and apologize most humbly - for ever daring to question his natural expertise.

Although he did acquiesce to my request, I think I slept for almost a week afterwards and walked funny for longer than that, but it was worth it.

I hoped this would be, too.

I liked him being physical with me like this, relying on his own tremendous strength to subdue me.

And I did my best not to make it easy for him, beginning to wiggle away from him as soon as my back hit the bed, rolling to one side and actually managing to stand up and take a step towards the false safety of the bathroom before he caught a hunk of my hair, using it to pull me back to him.

He stood as I almost fell against him, his rampant maleness pressing threateningly into the small of my back, his mouth at my ear, still pulling my hair, keeping my back and neck arched as he whispered, "Where do you think you are going, little wife? You seem to forget that you are _mine_ , to do with as I please."

He knew how much saying things like that to me made me crazy. Fighting him like this was so exciting, even though I always knew was going to be a losing proposition in the end, so I took great joy in small victories - like when I brought the heel of my foot down on his instep with all of my might, while simultaneously using both of my elbows to jab him sharply in the ribs, surprising him enough with my attack that he actually let me go and I made it all the way back to the bathroom door again before a hard arm snaked around my waist, pulling me just to the left of the door and slamming me up against the wall face first, and none too gently.

My hands were captured behind my back and quickly tied there with my own bra, which he had scooped up off the floor.

I could hear him panting from where he was plastered against me, his legs spread to compensate for the differences in our heights, which allowed his tremendous erection to try to find its way between my legs and inside me.

But he apparently had other ideas.

"I think you have forgotten your _place_ , my lovely - which is on your knees before me!" he roared.

Loki expertly yanked my arms even further up my back while grasping my throat tightly in his hand, choking me somewhat, and no matter my feeble attempts to avoid it, I found myself in exactly the position he desired seconds later, his hand now in my hair, holding my head still, that beautiful cock of his bobbing not far from my mouth, making it water in anticipation as much as I wished it wouldn't.

The look he gave me as he glared down at me was positively feral, and I felt myself dripping onto the carpet. Somehow that emboldened me, though, and I glared back up at him.

"Yeah, Loki, please put your erection into my mouth. I _dare_ you to," I encouraged sarcastically, and, for added effect, I bared my teeth at him and snapped them together loudly once or twice.

I expected him to rage. I expected him to yell, or spank me or even whip me for daring to threaten bodily harm against him.

I _didn't_ expect him to take a step closer to me, making me feel just that much smaller as he and that magnificently engorged hammer of his towered over me as he spoke, his voice eerily soft and almost casual. "If I feel so much as the _slightest_ graze of your teeth where I shouldn't, _wife_ , I _will_ flay every inch of skin from your behind, from the first gentle roundness of your cheeks to just above the backs of your knees, and you and I both know that I don't need magic for that."

I could feel my face blanching even whiter than it normally was and I swallowed hard. No, all he needed was one of the heavy leather belts from the armor that was hanging in the closet not ten feet away, or one of the single tails that hung at the back of it, behind our clothes.

He took himself in hand and rubbed himself all over my face, his balls draped over my lips more often than not, as if daring me to disobey him.

And I did open my lips to take one of those already tight orbs into mouth, noting that he flinched just slightly as I did so and feeling my own power because of it, rolling and flicking and licking him, carefully gumming him slightly as he pressed himself further into me with that strong hand at my nape.

I let him leave me with the deepest of reluctance, suckling so tightly on him that there was an audible "pop" when he disengaged himself.

The panting was back, but this time for a different reason.

His expression softened considerably, he took my chin in his fingers and said, "Open for me like a good girl, my darling . . ."

It was the "like a good girl" that got me, and he knew that, too.

I stubbornly refused to open my mouth, smiling up at him, teeth firmly clenched.

My hair was my undoing. When I challenged him like this, I always remembered the vow I made each time that I was going to chop it all off - which would have resulted in a heavy punishment, I knew - so that it couldn't be used against me.

Loki didn't look angry, the bastard. He was smiling back down at me as he reached around to practically pull it all out by the roots for me, hauling my head back at an unnatural angle and prying a scream of pain from me that he took full advantage of, mounting my mouth as I cried out, positioning himself almost over me, surrounding me, his feet outside my thighs, lording himself over me and filling me full - overfull - with one powerful stroke.

I don't know why, but I love to feel a man's full length and thickness in my mouth - and down my throat - at least as much as I do in my pussy, especially when I'm in a submissive position to that man. I love having my mouth fucked, and Loki - when he was just shy of unhinged with anger as he was now - was perfect at it.

Sometimes, he was almost too gentle with me, despite my reassurances that he didn't have to be concerned about his strength, and that I'd let him know if he was hurting me. I always counted it as a victory when I could push him past that, and this was definitely one of those times when he used me for his _own_ purposes, without worrying about me in the process. That was when I felt the most completely submissive to him.

And he certainly was doing just that.

His hand continued to grip my hair, creating a tremendous ache in my scalp as he rode my mouth, holding my head still for his heavy thrusts. "That's it, little wife, take it like a good girl."

I hated that nickname and growled around him, which only caused him to reach down and swat my breasts with his free hand, making them sting horribly for my impertinence.

He was so large that it was always a challenge to take all of him, even when he was gentle. When he was rough - and I knew he wasn't kidding about what would happen if he felt any hint of her teeth - it was damned near impossible. But I did my best to just . . . let him. To truly submit to him. And it wasn't easy when I was in this kind of mood. For some reason, I wanted to fight him, to fight against him, despite his physical superiority or maybe because of it. I wanted to test the limits, wanted to challenge everything he was to me that was so precious to me - a lovingly dominant disciplinarian, a fantastic, almost fanatical lover, a protective and possessive and wonderfully supportive husband.

For some reason, I felt as if I _had_ to - as if, occasionally, I had to _earn_ all of those things - that I sometimes wondered if I deserved - from him.

I kept my lips tight around him, keeping him wet and slick, making it easier for him to fuck me like this, even putting my head further back, so that he could invade more of me with each drive, as I cradled and laved and licked him with my tongue, reveling in every uncontrolled moan, every ragged breath, every small sign that I was getting to him as I knew he was.

When I knew he was close, I leaned towards him, opening my mouth further and looking up into his eyes.

Surrendering myself to him completely.

That was the moment he came, with a spine-shudderingly loud but low somewhere between a growl and a groan that made my entire body flush hot, hips bucking, hand fisted in the hair at the back of my neck, head thrown back, reduced to animalistic snarling as he spurted himself down my throat.

For a long while afterwards, he simply stood there, and I held him in my mouth as he receded, although not much. The man was impressively large even when he _wasn't_ aroused.

When he finally took a step back from me, loosing my head, he stumbled a bit, looking glassy eyed, and I felt inordinately proud at having reduced a God to that state.

"Maybe you should sit down?" I suggested softly, glancing up at him a bit warily.

That seemed to snap him out of it a bit, and he gave me a mischievous smile.

"Thank you but I am fine. Completely and utterly sated, thanks to you and that fantastic mouth of yours." He leaned down to kiss me lovingly, at the same time reaching around to undo my arms, gently massaging my shoulders after he did so, then proving just how recovered he was by leaning down to lift me into his arms and carry me to the bed where he proceeded to stretch himself out partially, on his back, those big feet still on the floor as he arranged me over him.

At first I thought he wanted me to sit astride him and perhaps revive him, but that wasn't his aim at all.

No, he wanted me to do something I always hesitated to do, despite how wonderful it felt. He wanted me to sit on his face, his hands gently but implacably guiding me towards that position, despite my murmured protests.

"But Loki - no . . . " I whimpered, sitting on his chest - next stop, my clit in his eager mouth.

He frowned fiercely. "That is not a word I approve of you using with me, my love, as you well know, and you have already said it entirely too many times in the few moments since you stepped through our door. Pray do not use it again or you will find yourself in the position I desire for you to be in, but with a bottom that is still sizzling and stinging." Loki had that dominant, disapproving look down pat before I ever got to him, and he'd only gotten worlds better at it since we'd been together. When I wasn't in a contrary mood like I was currently, all he had to do was lower his chin and give me that narrow eyed, scolding expression from across a room and I would stop whatever it was that I was doing immediately until he was smiling at me again.

"Now, move yourself up and place that beautiful quim of yours over my mouth, where it belongs, and, if you would prefer that that silky hide of yours remain untouched by my belt this evening, I suggest you do not remove it from that position until you are given my permission to do so."

That dark chocolate, velvety tone of quiet command had me moaning softly even before I did as he bade me to, lifting myself up those last few inches, then lowering myself into what I knew was his open mouth as it latched onto me as greedily as a child at his mother's nipple.

But his hands weren't idle, either, at first roaming all over my back with just his fingertips, raising goose bumps on already sensitive flesh, with barely there caresses at the small of my back, which he knew was ultra-sensitive, then finally those big hands settled on my hips, guiding me and controlling me, not allowing me to raise myself up, away from the warm, wet cavern of his eager lips and tongue.

As aroused as I was, though, for some reason, despite his valiant efforts, I couldn't seem to cum and it was beyond frustrating, making me slam my fists down onto my thighs and growl in anger.

"Relax, lovely," Loki whispered, moving me up a bit.

Suddenly, I found my wrists bound again - but I knew my bra was still on the floor.

"Loki -" 

I intended to chide him for using magic, but he pressed a finger over my lips, his expression a warning in itself. "I would not disturb us just to procure a tie when I can produce one so easily. The loss of the use of your hands will put you into just the head space I want you in. It will remind you of your submission, remind you that you have no choice but to give me your pleasure."

Damn him - he always knew just the right thing to say - and do - to me . . .

My wrists and elbows secured tightly - but comfortably - together - and then - the coup de gras - a blindfold of pure silk was secured behind my head as I tried my best to avoid it, making it that much harder for him to accomplish, not that he let that deter him.

"There, there, my fractious filly," he soothed.

"I am _not_ a horse!" I ground out.

"No," he agreed as he slowly began to reclaim his place between my legs. "You are my submissive wife and I love having you in this position. Now bend over and put your cheek to the mattress."

"But I'll suffocate you!" I whined unbecomingly as his hands gave me no choice but to obey him.

He chuckled softly. "You let me worry about my breathing, little one. You just remember exactly to whom it is that you belong, whose right it is to taste you like this, to take you, to bring you to pleasure or reduce you to tears . . . and be happy it's the former right now rather than the latter."

This time, as he guided me into position, not only did he take possession of me with his mouth, but his fingers found me, too, and, open as I was above him, there was nothing I could do to prevent their invasion, not that I didn't try. When I felt the tips against my entrance, I struggled to raise my hips away from them, but only succeeded in getting him to set my bottom on fire as he continued to stroke that broad, flat tongue of his over my clit slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world to do both things.

When I was sobbing from the spanking, I felt him there again and this time I was smart enough not to try to avoid it, cursing myself when their powerful presence - stretching me even further open around them as he pressed them home within me - and drawing a guttural groan from me that I could not suppress that I knew - although I couldn't see - was making him smile with pride and evil intent. 

And he didn't just leave them lying there quietly. No, he began to fuck me hard, twisting them and curling them within me, his other hand splayed half across my hot, sore ass and half at the small of my back, severely limiting my movements, keeping me _exactly_ where he wanted me, helplessly subject to his torturous ministrations.

My problem now wasn't that I _couldn't_ cum, it was that he wasn't _letting_ me cum. He knew me all too well - knew how to read my body language, my breathing patterns, my little mewls and loud moans well enough that he could easily get me right _there_ , then back me down, then bring me back up slowly, teasingly, only to force me away from the edge again before I managed to attain the ultimate satisfaction.

Over and over he brought me to the point where I could see into the abyss, but refused to allow me those few last swipes of his tongue that would grant me access to it.

I knew what he wanted from me. I knew what the price was, and that my own pride was my worst enemy, because I had known from the beginning but refused to give in to him.

He wanted me to beg. He wouldn't ask. Wouldn't demand or even mention it. But that was what he wanted nonetheless, and he wouldn't bat an eyelash at keeping me like this all night and all of tomorrow and into the next day - or the next decade - until I bowed to his will.

And I was so agonizingly desperate that I wasn't going to last much longer than it would take to get the words out.

But before I caved, I made one last attempt - not to escape this time, but instead to ride him to completion without his consent.

All I succeeded in doing, of course, was embarrassing myself as he laughed at me, controlling my absurd efforts to force him to bring me off with humiliating ease and treating me to another - much worse - spanking for my impertinent efforts.

And I begged all right- I begged him repeatedly - from the very first swat - there was no more bold braveness left in me in the face of the acute, endless searing of my flesh - to stop leaving his carmine red hand print on my ass - not that he even acknowledged that I'd said anything, or that I was sobbing abjectly as he disciplined me mercilessly.

I was so far along, though, that the spanking itself - although it hurt like a bitch and he'd stopped loving me with his mouth and finger fucking me while he did it - still nearly sent me hurtling over the edge by itself, but he was wise to that angle, too, and stopped before I'd made it there that way, either.

As I wept softly against the mattress, I felt his hands lifting my hips just a bit, just enough for him to whisper, "Cum for me, my pretty babylove. Cum in my mouth, my darling girl."

When he lowered me this time, those soft warm lips sealing over me with a renewed purpose, I knew he wasn't going to stop until I'd come completely undone for him.

His fingers found me again, driving deeply into me and crooking there, against that very specific, very tender spot, while his other hand came up and clamped onto my throat, big enough to nearly encircle it entirely, applying just the right amount of threatening pressure as he again used me for his own ends - which - this time - just happened to be my own orgasm.

He'd teased me so much that, despite the condition of my backside, it didn't take very long for me to get right back there, right to where he'd stopped every time before this evening, only this time, he didn't. Instead, he redoubled his efforts, that tongue pressing and circling and flicking and rubbing, lips tugging and pulling at me at the same time, those long fingers buried in me to the hilt, pulsing there, hard against me, while he nearly cut off my supply of oxygen with the others, making me feel ultimately helpless against what he was doing to me, what he was bringing me to.

What he was forcing on me. My own ultimate bliss - whether I wanted it or not.

But my body certainly did, and it completely overrode my brain and its useless pride. 

"Loki - _oh - my God_ \- oh, please - please - PLEASE! YESSSSSS!!!! LOOOOOOOKKKKIIIIIIIIII!!!!"

He was ruthless in his determination, never easing up even the slightest at my screams, driving me through them to the other side, where yet another sharp peak of agonizing pleasure waited, and then another and another and another, with no remission, no downslide, no relaxation between them, tidal wave after tidal wave of stark sensation flooding my body at his behest, until my mouth hung open but nothing came out, until I went limp, unable to handle or comprehend or live through another second of such excruciating ecstasy.

The blindfold was gently removed, my wrists and elbows freed, and a light nightgown flowed over me as he moved me as he needed to - like a rag doll - until I awoke from my stupor frightened for some reason and began to cling to him in a manner that I hated but couldn't seem to stop myself from doing.

It didn't phase Loki in the least. He kept one arm clamped around me as he arranged the bedclothes over us, tucking them mostly around me because he knew I'd soon be cold from reaction and holding me bone crackingly tight, the way he'd learned I needed to be when I was left so raw - like an exposed nerve - from what he'd done to me.

I was held to his side as he stretched us both out under the covers, murmuring soft nothings to me and rubbing my back soothingly. "There, there, little love."

Nothing intelligible would come out of my mouth for hours yet, and I was weeping piteously as I grabbed at him, even though if I got any closer to him, I'd be on the other side of him.

His patience with me when I got like this always amazed me, since it was hardly a quality he was known for. But he'd been like that from the start. We were so highly charged, so ultra-sexual with each other that our encounters often left me like this - much to my dismay - and he was unfailingly gentle and tender with me in my weird aftermath, never getting impatient, even when I plastered myself to him and wouldn't let go, no matter how much of a hindrance I was being. He never let go of me, either, never expected me to be anything other than what I was at that time, never hurried me to snap out of it for his own convenience.

Instead, Loki held me, uncomplaining, attentive to my needs and even coming to anticipate them with experience, knowing I would become cold and that it would compound my fear exponentially, so he always made sure I was tucked up under the covers and held against him. Somehow I always felt as if I had or was making him mad by my reactions, and sometimes, in the beginning, he had to spend an alarming amount of time convincing me that he wasn't angry, which only made me that much more concerned about it -

It was a vicious circle, one he'd never become impatient about, as if he understood somehow, innately, how horribly defenseless I felt during those moments, and he was always there to wrap me up in a cocoon of warm protectiveness, taking care of me like a child, reassuring me endlessly - although needing to less so the longer we were together - that he loved me and that everything was wonderful between us and reminding me how special I was to him and how touched and honored he felt that I trusted him enough to be this way with him.

He felt honored and touched at how crazily I reacted to his lovemaking.

I would never in a million years get over how he treated me, how he made me feel, in so many different ways.

If that was not the very definition of the unconditional love everyone else around him thought he was probably incapable of, then nothing is.


End file.
